


Parley

by SylvanWitch



Category: Black Sails, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Curtain Fic, M/M, Space Pirate AU, black sails au, domestic life, post-series for SGA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 19:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: Charles Vane was once among the most feared space pirates in all the Pegasus Galaxy, but none of that bloodshed had prepared him for arguing with his teenage daughter.





	Parley

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to oschun on DW who gave me the following in the 15 Characters meme challenge: Two and seven have a child together (regardless of gender). What does a family argument look like when said child becomes a teenager?  
> Two was Ronon, seven Vane. This pairing...mmmph.

Because this was the life he had—that James Flint and John Sheppard would be the voices of reason in their strange and terrifying little family—Charles Vane found himself (not for the first time) invoking the absent godfathers as Treenie argued (not for even the first hundredth time) that she was old enough and responsible enough to drive.

“The first may be true,” Charles drawled from his “throne” in the family room, where he’d been trying to watch a football game when their sixteen-going-on-lawyer daughter had thrown herself into the room and begun arguing in that reasonable, calculating way she’d learned from her godfather—and goddamn Flint to eternity for this crime more than for any other in a list larger than his ego.

Predictably, Ronon had been three strides behind her, mouth shut but muscle in his jaw ticking visibly.

Always it was thus.

“But your little stunt with Marva and Eli last week belies the second,” Charles noted—it wasn’t his daughter only who’d learned the fine art of steel-eyed debate from Flint, and Charles had had a lot longer than she to perfect it, even if his preference still, in his heart of hearts, was to solve every problem at the point of a sword.

“You know it was necessary,” she hissed, hands on her hips, feet spread in the I-am-immovable stance that her father, Ronon, had patented.

“What’s necessary,” Ronon rumbled, “is you finishing high school without a criminal record.”

“They were being tortured!” Treenie countered, voice rising a little, as only Ronon’s patient, steadfast opposition could elicit.

“I’m not arguing the whys and wherefores of pharmaceutical research with you,” Charles said before Treenie could go on another of her diatribes about animal cruelty. It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathize with her point of view—to a degree (even in his heyday as a space pirate, even before he’d met Ronon and his team, been brought into the fold and brought Flint along with him, he hadn’t liked casual, unnecessary cruelty, for all he’d been good at it). It was that he feared for her safety, a little, and a great deal more feared for their family dynamics, what would happen when she gained her wings, as he knew that she surely must.

Still, as long as he was her father, Charles Vane was going to worry, and over this one circumstance, at least, he had some control.

“I’m saying that if and when your father and I decide you’ve proven yourself responsible enough to drive, we’ll make sure that you go about learning how to do it in the safest fashion possible—defensively and offensively,” he added, considering some of the moves he’d used to escape the Wraith over the years.

He caught the moment his brilliant daughter realized that he wasn’t so much arguing with her as conceding something, watched her open her mouth to rejoin, reconsider her position, and just like that, relax.

Ronon, who hadn’t left parade rest since he’d stalked into the room, met Charles’ eyes over their daughter’s head and gave him a nod—barely a nod, the scantest movement of his chin—to suggest that his words had been well-spoken.

As always, even this laconic praise warmed something in the old pirate that he was careful not to examine too closely, for fear of bringing some ill fate down upon it.

Treenie nodded. “Okay. Let’s talk time frame, then.”

Sighing to himself—he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy—Charles gave Ronon a wry smile in return and unpaused the game, letting the stadium noise and announcers' voices blur his daughter’s and his husband’s as they left the room to begin round two of their parley.


End file.
